


tango for one

by fraldarian



Series: Commissions [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, M/M, Pre-Time Skip, Unrequited Crush, White Heron Cup (Fire Emblem)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:08:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25075870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fraldarian/pseuds/fraldarian
Summary: Ferdinand helps Felix with his dance practice before the White Heron Cup and comes out of it nursing a new crush.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Linhardt von Hevring, Ferdinand von Aegir & Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Series: Commissions [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1854472
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	1. i. the courtyard

**Author's Note:**

> commission for someone over on discord. you can find me on twitter as @fraldarian, where my commission prices are located!

There are two things that happen during the Ethereal Moon of Imperial Year 1180.

The first of them is this: Ferdinand von Aegir is selected as the White Heron representative for the Black Eagles class. And as much as he’d like to downplay it, there isn’t a set of eyes or ears in sight that haven’t yet heard or seen Ferdinand practicing his dance mastery. The Viennese Waltz, the Quickstep, and the Paso Doble, amongst a few others were all various techniques Ferdinand had been learning. Despite having no volunteers to partake in being his trustworthy partner, Aegir doesn’t mind. Not on the surface, at least.

Felix Hugo Fraldarius is selected to be the representative for the Blue Lions, and as much as the boy tries to hide it, it’s clear that among the chagrin there’s an air of self-assurance that drives Fraldarius onwards. Belt buckles and tassels, strings and a set of fine sashes that sway when he practices in the courtyard. Felix says he isn’t good – quite denies any talent for dancing, really – but an entrancement follows him regardless.

The second thing to happen falls shortly after: There’s the disappearance of all three house leaders, and along with them Ashe, Hilda, and Linhardt follow suit. Despite the mysterious circumstances that left them vanishing throughout the night, it had hardly gone unnoticed by those within the monastery. By the waking hours that followed, Hubert had already gone on a pillaging tirade, and by the end of the day a launch into where exactly the missing students had ended up became the source of much conspiracy.

“The boar is nowhere to be found. What a pity for the kingdom.” Felix is dragging the toe of his boot through the mud of the training grounds, letting a scowl cross his face. “Hardly becoming of a prince. I wonder what it is he could be doing with both Edelgard and Claude.”

Though the moon had been rough for everyone, it had been especially bothersome for Fraldarius. Already the boy had grown far too accustomed with the various weapons stored in the barracks; some were tools he had not once used before, nor had any particular skill in. Ferdinand and Sylvain had both walked in on Felix with a bow drawn taut and a blunt arrow poised at an unsuspecting target.

It was not only Felix, of course. Hubert had been distraught, and already Ferdinand had caught the man on numerous occasions with a set of handkerchiefs and vials that it had left him unable to pry any further. Dedue was beside oneself at both Dimitri and Ashe’s timely disappearance.

And despite it all, the church never once seemed worried.

“Even Hubert seems distraught. I have never seen him in such a state like this. It is not so noble for Edelgard and the others to depart like this, is it?” Ferdinand’s sitting on the edge of a stone slab, presses a heel into mud as a lance lays neatly across his lap.

“Why does it matter over whether it’s ‘noble’ or not, Ferdinand?” The other boy is standing with his back turned to Aegir, and in turn Ferdinand’s eyes are left staring at the bun sat delicately upon Felix’s head. “Perhaps I would have been more inclined to believe it had to do with noble affairs if it was only the three of them. But Ashe has departed, and so has –”

There’s a pause that hangs intangible in the air, and immediately Ferdinand is frowning. “Linhardt? Yes, he has left. It is strange that it was him out of all others in my class. Do you think he left freely?”

It must not have been the right thing to say. Because Felix is pivoting on a sharp heel, focuses a stare so daggered and finely tuned that it may as well have pierced through Aegir’s flesh. “Of course I don’t, idiot. I think the same situation occurred to them the same way it did to Flayn, and that … girl.” There’s a scowl crossing Felix’s face, turns pointed features even sharper. “But it can’t be Jeritza, can it? The man is gone. There’s no trace of him on the Monastery grounds anymore.”

The boy’s back to pacing, and despite the desire to help him, Ferdinand doesn’t know what to do. There’s the clenching of a hand against his thigh, bunches and wrinkles the trousers there. He had never been good at comforting others; Aegir wasn’t good with handling others’ emotions at all, really.

“I am sure,” Ferdinand finally drawls, “that Linhardt will be fine.” Wide eyes are casted downwards, and Ferdinand finds himself swallowing thickly under the scrutinous stare of a wrathful Felix. “He is a smart man. He knows what to do.”

They’re the last words spoken between them that afternoon. Because instead Fraldarius eventually draws a training sword once more, and Ferdinand has no choice but to follow suit with his training lance. Felix had always been like this; any trouble that arose inside the boy’s mind was instantly berated with ideas of the duelling with swords and metal against metal.

Perhaps, in Felix’s own, strange way, it was how he believed he could protect those he cared for.

Ferdinand admired it from afar.

It’s a week later and yet there is still no sign of the house leaders, nor the other missing students. And despite the unease laying thick in the air, Lady Rhea tries her hardest to push past it, instead gathers the inhabitants of the Monastery and clusters them.

Ferdinand never forgets when something is directed towards him. Which means he doesn’t forget the archbishop’s plea to continue onwards with his devoted training. While at first, he daftly mistakes it for weaponry schooling, it becomes apparent she means with his dancing methods. It’s enough to kick Aegir back into gear, and soon enough he finds himself with a begrudging Dorothea and a static Professor Byleth correcting his movements once again.

“No, Ferdie. Kick your leg up higher.” Dorothea’s found herself taking control of the entire session. It was not out of a sense of duty, but more out of her natural drive to perfect; Byleth, as per normal, seemed to have no objections against such. The Professor’s face seemed devoid of emotion, and the blinking of plum eyes was the only indication that she was actually watching in the first place.

“I think I am doing quite alright, Dorothea.” Ferdinand gives another twirl, enjoying the way the tassels move alongside him. “Perhaps I am good enough to cavort with the pegasi. Do you not agree? I am just as graceful, if not plenty more than them.”

There’s a rolling of eyes, and then Dorothea is standing behind him, places hands along his biceps and directs his arms further upwards into a graceful arch. “I can hardly see you doing such, Ferdie. You need to practice a little more on your hold!”

As if on cue there’s a slight teeter to Aegir’s stature, and he frowns as a foot is placed back onto the ground intermittently. “I did not know you were such the dancer, Dorothea. Are you not only a songstress?”

There’s a scowl painting its way across the girl’s face now, and she lurches back, placing hands upon her hips. “There’s quite a lot you don’t know about me, Ferdinand. You shouldn’t pass judgement so quickly.” She’s still helping him though, bending to turn his leg more outwards, but still the remark leaves Ferdinand grimacing.

“I did not mean it like that! Surely you must know that?” Twisting his lower back so that his head is facing Dorothea, the girl frowns.

“It’s fine. Keep your eyes on Professor. Your competition is a lot fiercer than you might think, Ferdie!” Though chastising, Arnault seems to be particularly skilled with multitasking; with a wag of a pointed index from one hand, another is grabbing a toned bicep and lifting it up high.

“Have you not seen Felix practicing with Annette? He’s got impressive footwork. I’m not surprised considering how much sword training that boy does.” Dorothea’s humming as she circles around Ferdinand, looks him over once before settling back beside the Professor’s side. “And Lysithea is doing quite the impressive job as well. She’s going to look lovely in the middle of that ballroom.” There’s only a bit of covetousness laced in with Dorothea’s words; the girl had wanted to be chosen for the White Heron more than the rest. It was a bit of a pity, in some ways, that Ferdinand had been picked – regardless if he was overjoyed.

“Felix? You say he is good at dancing?” Ferdinand’s lips press together in a thin line, even has he pirouettes in the courtyard. “I haven’t seen him out much with her. Are you sure he is still practicing?”

There’s a shrug from Dorothea: “I don’t think so. That boy seems lost in his own world lately.”

Arnault is right, and that evening Ferdinand finds Felix in the training grounds once more. And somehow, despite the sweat beading along his brow and dripping like fresh melon dew upon his temples, the boy lets Aegir talk him into a night out for dinner. Aegir thinks it’s the least he can do; Fraldarius is a mess, and if he wants the other boy to do well in the Cup, he needs to get him back onto his own footing.

They’re in the Marketplace when Ferdinand finally brings it up. Felix has a single hand wrapped around a freshly baked bun, a strip of salted meat in the other.

“You have not been practicing, have you?” Though it’s loud in the square – the voices of buyers and sellers will remain bustling far into the night yet to come – Aegir’s voice rings clear in the other boy’s ear.

“No. And what of it?” There’s a defensive lilt to Felix’s voice then, and a bottom lip juts out in the beginnings of a venomous retort. “I don’t have time for such stupid things. Linhardt is still missing. So is Dimitri. And the archbishop believes we should still continue on celebrating? What an idiotic idea. The people here are fools.”

In some ways, Fraldarius is right. But it isn’t good to sit idly and waste an opportunity he’s been freely given. Weapons mastery could wait for another day; already Felix was the best in their year, and any other training would simply be practice. Nothing more.

“Is it not best to help distract yourself though? I think that is what Lady Rhea is getting at.” Felix looks like he’s about to combust, and before he can get a word in, Aegir continues on hastily. “And I do not mean wielding a sword in the training grounds. You’re going to put your whole class to shame, Felix!”

It’s not something Ferdinand usually says, but when it comes to boosting morale, the Adrestian truly is good at it. And despite the frown plaguing Fraldarius’s face, something in the other boy’s eyes says he genuinely is thinking over what Aegir has said. “You really want to help me practice, huh?” His voice is careful, edging on the side of caution. But there’s that lilt of interest that Ferdinand has become used to hearing whenever Felix speaks of other topics, such as weaponry maintenance or allies within the Monastery.

“Yes. And I think you should take me up on it, no?”

Fraldarius’s answering smile is enough.

The stars are fully out when they arrive back to the Monastery. They’re in the courtyard, Ferdinand against a lone pillar and an abashed Felix standing like a marbled statue among the short-stemmed grass. The moonlight’s reflecting down upon him, casts high cheekbones and sharp angles in an unusual glow. But something about it is captivating nonetheless.

“Are you going to just stand there?” Felix’s words hit with a lethal toxicity, the glint of a canine clear in the minimal lighting. What Aegir was once thinking has now been lost to the empty air between them.

“You agreed to come here, did you not? I thought you were going to dance for me. To show me what you know already.” There’s genuine confusion attached to Ferdinand’s voice, and brows draw together until a worrying knot forms in the centre.

“I’m not dancing for you. You said you were going to help. So, help me.”

Those are the words that finally draw a hearty laugh from Ferdinand, and it’s only a desperate glare shot his way that reminds him people are busy sleeping. “I cannot help you if you do not show me what you know! Come on, Felix. It is just me. Are we not friends?”

It takes some coaxing. But at some point, during the night, Felix unravels. And despite bony hips and thin arms and a body that’s only beginning to finish filling out with young adulthood, the boy somehow manages to do well. It’s not hard to imagine him with tassels swinging at his sides and a sash drawn loose across his chest, hair pulled back ornately amongst a ballroom of spectators and the beating of drums and harmonious lyres. And somewhere, along the way, Ferdinand thinks this:

Felix Hugo Fraldarius, in all his callous glory, is beautiful.

Perhaps Aegir should not think as such: Felix was with Linhardt, and yet still, even as guilt plagued his whirling mind, the thought lingered there. That crescendo of his beating heart whenever his hands found excuse to tilt a leg further upwards or direct a forearm into the right position. That sweating of nervous palms and the faint scent of lavender clinging to Fraldarius that Ferdinand knew he used daily.

It’s hard not to think of such things when Felix finally gets into it, lets bangs become untucked from a windswept bun and amber eyes that focus with enough intent to rival the same expressions he wore when training in the grounds. Ferdinand doesn’t know how long it is, but at some point, Felix finally stops and Aegir is forced to push back against his lone pillar once more.

“And?” Fraldarius asks, a faint sheen of sweat upon his brow. His cheeks are flushed, though whether it’s from exertion or embarrassment, Ferdinand is not sure. He thinks, perhaps, that it is both.

“You’re good. A lot better than I thought you were.” The compliment rings genuine, despite its awkward wording, and for once in a blue moon Fraldarius does not intercept back with a sharp retort.

“Yeah?” He asks instead, placing a hand to his hip and look down at his feet. His chest is rising and falling rapidly. Ferdinand wants to kiss him. “Annette thinks I’m still not good enough.” There’s something else hanging on Fraldarius’s tongue, and Aegir wants to coax it out of him; Felix beats him to it. “Linhardt … Wants to see if my crest may come into play. I think that’s a cheap way to go about things.”

Ferdinand only manages a slight smile in return, the ghosting of curved lips lighting briefly upon his face. “Perhaps so. But I think Annette is wrong. I think you really are good at dancing; you don’t seem to realize that yourself.”

It must be too much. Or maybe it isn’t. But Aegir knows Fraldarius, knows that the boy doesn’t take heartfelt compliments the way another might. So instead he turns, away with a frown, and suddenly amber eyes cannot be seen by Ferdinand’s anymore. “No need to lay it on thick, Aegir.” The hand once at his hip falls away. “Thanks. For helping me. I’m going to bed now.”

It seems abrupt, but everything about Felix is. He’s a whirlwind of festered retorts and surprising whims and despite what they may say, not even Sylvain, Ingrid and Dimitri fully understand him.

Ferdinand thinks no one will truly understand Felix. Not even Felix himself.

But instead, he says this: “Okay. Goodnight, Felix.” They’re the last words he says that night. The last words that get burned into his memory when several days later the missing students return unscathed. Fraldarius and Aegir won’t ever mention the dancing lesson again, and perhaps, Felix forgets of it entirely.

But of course, Ferdinand doesn’t.

It’s hard to be on the unrequited side of things.


	2. ii. epilogue

On the eve of the ball, Ferdinand von Aegir steps away from the centre of attention.

He’s in the courtyard again. Away from prying eyes, where he can disentangle tassels and let silver bells fall to sandal-clad feet beneath. They hit the soft grass without so much as a tinkle, and he wonders if they were even real to begin with. It doesn’t matter, considering Fraldarius has won instead, and Ferdinand won’t be ever seeing such garments again.

Carried between freckled hands are garden-picked flowers. Carnations and peonies, forget-me-nots and whatever other brightly coloured miracles had stuck out to the boy. And perhaps, in a different timeline, on a different night, in a different setting, he would have handed them to their recipient.

He doesn’t, though. Not now, not ever, and instead he’s left standing at the foot of the Goddess Tower with the voices of two boys high above him.

When Linhardt von Hevring had arrived back to the Monastery, whatever hopeful glimpse Ferdinand had seen into a possible future crumbled. And with it were the fantasies of an adolescent boy too awestruck by his friend to say anything other than a “I’m glad he is back.” Because what would he be to Felix if he had said elsewise? Fraldarius is happy, and if anything, that makes Ferdinand feel at ease.

A little bit.

Even though the students had been in no real danger – a man by the name of Yuri Leclerc had safely returned them each – it had left a lasting impact on them all. No less among them was Felix, whose smile had seemed more genuine for once that moon than any other passing day before. And it’s a little disheartening, a little soul crushing, when Aegir realizes he can’t make Fraldarius’s face light up the same way. And now that he’s here, at the foot of a tower that promises lovers a bountiful future, it’s no surprise that instead of meeting Felix alone he is with Linhardt.

“Such promises are faulty and pathetic.” Fraldarius’s voice rings out from the top of the tower, catches on trailing winds and whispers to Ferdinand.

“I think just as much. But should we not make one regardless? Would it not be interesting to see what unfolds from it?" Hevring’s voice is alone with Felix’s, and the sound of it makes Aegir stiffen, freckled shoulders drooping. He feels cold, suddenly, out in the open with only his dancer assemble.

It should not have been in his interest to stay any longer. Already Ferdinand is feeling what oddly seems like a broken heart, and already the breezy chortle that escapes from a pair of thin lips he knows to be Felix’s does nothing to mend it. Listening in on two lovers exchanging solemn promises should not be for prying ears.

And yet.

And yet Ferdinand’s mind has never been truly good at realizing what it should and should not do.

So, when Felix exchanges pledges his word of integrity to return to the same spot on the festival five years from this date, it’s enough for Aegir to turn away. There’s nothing here for him, and he knows, somewhere deep down, that there has never been.

Sometimes the truth hurts, but it’s freeing. Despite nursing the tender ache now planting a seed in his chest, Aegir leaves knowing that at least, despite everything, Fraldarius is at ease. It’s bittersweet, as most things go. He tries to convince himself that with time, this feeling, too, shall pass.

The stars are at their brightest again when Ferdinand’s hands go limp, and dexterous fingers that once carried a homemade bouquet now drop a scattering of loose petals and leaves and a conjunction of tangled stems to the cobblestones beneath. He watches then, as the wind picks them up, carries each one away to lands unknown. By the time the breeze dies down, there’s only a few flowers left. Aegir lets a sandal press lightly against a forget-me-not, relishes in the crisp crunch it makes in turn. All the while, there’s the familiar lull of Fraldarius’s voice.

He pretends that it carries him to his dorm room, pretends it’s the one that tells him with supple words that it’s time for bed. And before Ferdinand knows it, he’s stripping free of his dancer attire, finds blouse and loose trousers to replace them with. There’s no reason for hanging them up or draping them across a dressing table. Wrinkles were wrinkles; Ferdinand could wash them out another day.

In the end, Aegir falls into a restless, fitful sleep. In his dreams his mind conjures images of amber eyes greeting him in the waking hours of a new moon.

Of course, when he wakes up, they aren’t there. They’ve never been, and never will.


End file.
